


you don't know what you mean

by magictodestroy



Series: to your bones [1]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Angst, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Drinking, Emotional Abuse, M/M, PTSD, Pregnancy, Psychological Torture, Smoking, Trans Characters, Unhealthy Relationships, non chronological, pariging
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-20 23:43:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14904420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magictodestroy/pseuds/magictodestroy
Summary: Ging and Pariston don't get along. Non chronological.





	you don't know what you mean

 

 

Pariston stares blank eyed. The city lights are shimmering brighter tonight, and they blur and fade in his vision. He doesn’t know if he is in his body or if he is hovering next to it. Maybe he finally died.

Ging drops down next to him, an unlit cigarette between two fingers.

‘Fucking boring party, yeah?’ he says.

Pariston nods.

Ging lights the cigarette with his fingertips and takes a drag. He pushes his feet between the railings of the balcony and lets his legs dangle down. He presses his face to the iron bars and smokes quietly.

Pariston stays where he was, back against the brick wall of the old hotel. Light and music wash over him from the party going on inside. He sees Cheadle waltzing by with Pyon. They’re laughing. They look happy.

Ging rips his tie off and throws it down beside him. He unbuttons his shirt three buttons down and shrugs off his jacket. Ging watches the city.

Pariston runs his finger over the rim of his wine glass. The pink wine quivers with the vibrations of the music.

Kite comes out onto the balcony. Of course he’s looking for Ging. Pariston sticks a leg out so it’s harder for Kite to settle next to Ging, but he still manages. No one knows where Kite came from. He’s also not officially registered as a student, but Pariston is sure Ging’s teaching him Nen. For what purposes he doesn’t know. Maybe he’s building himself an army.

‘Hey,’ Ging says to Kite. He stamps out his cigarette.

Kite doesn’t know how to protect himself from the smoke, Pariston decides. He’s not very advanced in his training if he’s training.

Of course he’s training. Ging doesn’t make any attempts to conceal it although he also won’t admit it. That’s so typical of Ging.

Kite takes off his jacket and messes with his hair. He sits with his legs dangling off the balcony too.

Pariston lifts his wine glass and pours the wine out over Kite’s shirt.

‘Oops,’ he says.

‘It’s okay,’ Kite says and takes his shirt off. ‘I’m sure you’re very drunk.’

Pariston laughs, and it’s too loud, and he suddenly realises he is very drunk. He drops the glass off the balcony and it shatters on the street below.

‘It’s a shame,’ he says.

Ging glances at him. ‘You’re a mess, Paris.’

Pariston is a mess. He’s drunk and unreal and he feels sick and weak and boring. He rolls his head and his cheek grazes a patch of rough mortar. It cuts, and when he touches his face he feels blood.

Kite licks his thumb and brushes it over the cut.

Pariston squirms. ‘Ew.’

Ging takes Kite’s hand by the wrist and pushes it down.

‘Leave it,’ he says.

Kite nods and looks away. He wraps his long, skinny arms around two bars in the railing. His hair blows in the summer wind.

Ging touches Pariston’s knee. ‘It’s just a scratch.’

Ging’s hand is beautiful against the shimmering blue of Pariston’s pants. It’s calloused and the nails are longer than usual on three fingers and cut too short on two. The burn Ging got on his index finger last year is still visible if you know where to look.

Pariston grabs Ging’s hand and presses it to his lips so hard and so fast that it hurts his teeth. He kisses it fiercely, and Ging stares like he doesn’t understand. His lip quivers for a moment.

‘Paris,’ he says so softly it’s almost not a sound.

His eyes are wide and hazel and his face is freckled with rainbows from the crystal chandelier just inside the door.

Pariston feels his heart stop. For a moment, they’re back in time, and Ging still loves him.

Ging pulls his hand away.

The song ends and there’s applause before the band starts the next one. Ging turns his back to Pariston again.

‘I’m leaving tomorrow,’ he says. ‘I should have left today. I didn’t need to come here.’

Pariston wonders why he did. Ging hates crowds and Ging hates parties and Ging hates him.

‘You should pay for Kite’s shirt,’ Ging continues. ‘And then I’m leaving.’

Of course Ging says I when he means we. Pariston laughs and takes out his wallet. He pulls out far too much money and presses it into Kite’s hand.

‘You need it,’ he says and rubs his fingers. ‘Good luck with that.’ He gestures broadly at Ging and pulls himself shakily to his feet. He lurches for a moment and turns and vomits over the edge of the balcony.

‘God, Paris,’ Ging murmurs.

Pariston wipes at his mouth and goes inside. It’s too bright and the people dancing makes him dizzier. He manages to make it to the bathroom and washes his mouth out. He cleans the cut and covers it with make-up. He fixes his hair and he looks perfect again.

He sits on the sofa in front of the make-up mirror. It’s a nice bathroom.

Cheadle comes in. She stares at him for a moment but doesn’t comment. She goes into a stall and pees and comes out and washes her hands.

He holds his hand out to her and so she sits beside him. She doesn’t much like crowds either.

‘What are we going to do with you, Pariston?’ she says.

She puts her head on his shoulder, and they sit for a long time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Pariston wakes up with a hangover in his bed in his room in the hotel. He doesn’t remember how he got there. The last thing he remembers is falling asleep in the women’s bathroom. Someone might have carried him.

He sits up and wonders if Ging’s left already. It’s 10:15 in the morning. Ging probably left at dawn.

Pariston goes out into the hall. The door to Ging’s room is open and Kite’s inside packing. Pariston wanders in.

‘Ging here?’

Kite looks over his shoulder. He’s putting Ging’s socks into his bag.

‘He’s talking to Netero,’ he says. ‘He didn’t get in until really fucking late.’

‘Okay.’ Pariston’s relieved. He slumps down into a chair and grabs Ging’s water bottle and gulps from it. He’s so thirsty.

‘Does Ging hate me?’ he says. Water’s dripping down his chin.

‘I don’t know,’ Kite says. ‘He doesn’t talk about you.’

Pariston watches Kite, eyes narrowed.

‘How old are you?’

‘Eighteen.’ Kite buckles Ging’s bag shut.

‘Sure, fine.’ Pariston finishes the water.

Kite takes the bottle and refills it. He offers it to Pariston, who takes it. Kite watches him.

‘So you’re like a fucking disaster?’

Pariston laughs. ‘Oh definitely.’

‘Huh.’ Kite sits down on the unmade bed and double checks the bags. Or maybe it’s a triple check. Kite looks careful.

The window is open and green leaves blow in. Pariston sips the cold water slowly now. Kite sits, fingers pressed to his mouth. He chews on his knuckle.

Pariston wonders how many times he’s waited for Ging. And Ging will probably say two words to him before he goes. Or maybe he’ll say none. Ging might pretend that he doesn’t exist, and Pariston will feel dead again.

‘I hurt him bad,’ Pariston says to Kite.

Kite glances over at him. He shifts.

‘I think I broke his heart.’

Kite shrugs. ‘He doesn’t mention you.’

‘Of course not.’

Ging comes in. He’s wearing puffy pants and a tank top and has a headband wrapped around his head to keep his hair and sweat off his face.

‘Packed?’ he says to Kite.

Kite nods.

Ging nods. ‘I’ll meet you in the lobby.’

Kite takes his bag and goes to the door.

‘Bye,’ he says to Pariston.

‘Oh, bye, honey.’

Kite stiffens but doesn’t comment. He leaves them.

Ging stands in the middle of the room, arms folded. He looks Pariston over.

‘Well?’

Pariston bites his lip. He had so many things to say and now he’s forgotten them. He sips the water.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says.

‘Yeah?’

Pariston shrugs. ‘I’d say I didn’t mean to hurt you, but we’d both know that’s a lie.’

‘Mm.’ Ging looks down at his boots. ‘What do you want, Paris?’

Pariston wants Ging to hate him but want him. Pariston wants Ging to be head over heels in love again, gasping and laughing and seventeen running into northern oceans in December screaming. Pariston wants Ging’s head on his lap and his hands in his hair and his arms around him in the dark of the night and his voice soft and gentle saying ‘they can’t get you now.’ Pariston wants Ging crying on the floor. He wants him in the tops of the trees throwing down pine cones and making leaf crowns to put in their hair. He wants Ging alive and free. He wants Ging always and forever his.

‘I miss you.’

‘Fuck you.’ Ging spins in a circle and groans. He grabs his bag. ‘You’re always like this.’

‘Is it really so bad?’

‘I’ll see you, Paris.’

Pariston grabs Ging’s hand as Ging walks past him.

‘Ging, please.’

Ging looks down at him.

‘Take care of yourself, Paris.’

Pariston sits in the empty room for a long while after Ging’s left. He watches the sheets ripple in the wind. The curtains billow out and one side rushes out the window and flutters in the air.

‘Hey,’ Knov says from the doorway.

Pariston looks over his shoulder. Knov always unnerves him in how delicate he looks for someone that tall and powerful.

‘Hi.’ Pariston waves, so Knov comes in. Pariston clutches at Ging’s water bottle. He takes another gulp.

Knov sits on the chair opposite Pariston.

‘Did you enjoy the party?’ he says. ‘I didn’t see much of you.’

‘Oh, sure. It was great,’ Pariston says. ‘But I left early.’

‘With Ging?’

‘Sure.’

Knov leans forward, and Pariston hates how it feels like he’s looking straight through him. Knov knows him too well. Pariston hates that. He doesn’t like anyone to know his secrets, and Knov knows a lot of them. They went to school together, and that’s why Knov thinks he knows him. But he doesn’t. He just knows pieces of him. Pariston smiles widely.

‘I had a bit too much to drink,’ he says.

‘Okay. Ging said you were driving him crazy.’

‘He said that?’

‘I passed him in the hall. I guess that’s how he says good morning.’

Pariston laughs. ‘Oh, he is a dear.’

Pariston sips more water. His mouth is numb, and his hand is shaky. His throat feels scratched and it makes him want to claw at his neck until he rips it open and gets out the thing that’s bothering him.

Knov edges himself closer to Pariston, pulling the chair along under him. It leaves four deep marks on the beige carpet.

‘It’s a hideous room,’ Pariston says.

‘Awful,’ Knov agrees. He puts his hand over Pariston’s hand. ‘Paris.’

‘What?’ And Pariston stares at him fully.

‘We’re worried about you.’

Pariston doesn’t care who we is, although he figures it must be some variation of Knov, Cheadle, Netero, and Beans. Maybe some other people. Maybe none of them. Knov might say we just to be dramatic. That’s like him.

Pariston knows everything there is to know about Knov: who hurt him and how they hurt him and why it was enough to get a child to rip reality open to hide.

Pariston touches Knov’s cheek, and Knov stares back steadily.

‘Thanks.’ Pariston kisses him on the cheek and gets up. ‘I need to pack.’

 

 

 

 

 

Pariston checks out of his room at noon. Kite is in the lobby. He fiddles on his phone, bored and abandoned. Pariston sits on the sofa beside him.

‘Ging’s an ass.’

Kite doesn’t answer. He looks at him directly but doesn’t say anything.

Pariston smiles sweetly. ‘Did Ging tell you not to talk to me?’

‘Ging never talked about you.’

‘Right. Of course.’ Kite loves saying that. Pariston pats Kite’s arm. ‘Did you get a new shirt, honey?’

‘No.’

Pariston laughs. ‘You are just sensational at conversation. Anyone ever told you that?’

Kite looks away. His hair falls over his face, and he dips his hat low to hide himself.

Pariston leaves him alone but stays close, waiting for Ging. It’s stupid, but he’s done stupider things for Ging before.

Ging comes at one.

‘We can go now,’ he says to Kite. He doesn’t look at Pariston.

Kite gets up. Pariston follows them out into the street.

The air is hot and thick. Dark clouds sit low on the horizon, and the sky is a deep shadowed blue.

They get on a bus and Pariston sits on the bench behind them. He holds his suitcase between his feet. Ging still doesn’t look at him. Kite does; he keeps glancing over his shoulder and staring intently until Ging talks to him.

They get off at the airport and Ging goes to the desk and loudly buys two tickets, making no attempt to hide his destination. Pariston knows suddenly that he could just follow Ging. He could follow him and run after him all over the world. Ging wouldn’t care. He’d find it funny. He’d let him chase him until it was funnier to slip off without warning and leave Pariston searching alone. He wonders if that’s what Ging’s going to do to Kite.

Pariston sits right beside Ging on the bench at the airport, and Ging doesn’t look at him.

‘Ging,’ Pariston says.

‘Are we really going to do this?’ Ging says to the floor.‘What the fuck do you want from me, Pariston? Didn’t you get enough before?’

‘I love you,’ Pariston says.

‘You want to do this in front of Kite?’

‘I love you,’ Pariston says again. ‘We made each other happy.’

‘Paris, we killed each other.’

Pariston remembers how it felt to hold Ging in a blizzard on the sea shore. Ging screaming ‘fuck you,’ voice torn apart by the wind. How he felt the morning after, skin burning hot and eyes open in wonder as Pariston felt the new bruises forming along his knees and shins. The taste of Ging’s tears when he kissed his face a thousand times and Ging trembled and said ‘tell me I’m not there. Tell me I don’t have to go back.’

‘We were happy.’

Ging looks up at him for the first time, searching Pariston’s face. He shrugs. ‘I’m happy now.’

‘I love you.’

‘You know that’s not good enough.’

Pariston takes Ging’s hand. ‘You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted.’

‘Fuck, Paris, have some self respect.’

This conversation is stupid and public and agonising, but Pariston doesn’t know how to stop. Kite is sitting beside them looking down at his feet.

‘You’re the only one I love, Ging,’ Pariston says again. He never knows how to stop with Ging.‘The only one.’

‘Sucks for you.’ Ging looks up at the glass ceiling. An airship is coming down slowly for landing.

Pariston holds his hand on Ging’s shoulder. He loves how his muscles feel. Ging is strong, and his skin is brown and freckled along the arms. He kisses Ging’s shoulder.

‘The only one.’

Ging turns away helplessly.

‘I’m not the kind of person you can depend on.’

Pariston swallows. ‘Ging...’

‘I’m not. You know that. Just like I know you’re the sort of person who’s going to destroy me. And I don’t want to be destroyed. I worked too hard for that.’

‘Ging.’

‘What?’ Ging’s voice is high and strangled. ‘Don’t fucking do this here.’

Kite watches them out of the corner of his eye.

‘I don’t like you,’ Ging says. ‘Okay? Is that good enough? I don’t like you.’

Pariston licks his lip. ‘Okay.’

‘Does that make you happy?’ Ging looks down again. ‘Is that what you wanted me to say? There are people you can’t save, Paris. And that was you for me, and me for you.’

Pariston looks across the lobby at the bubbling fountain.

‘I know.’

‘And we couldn’t, Paris. We really couldn’t.’

‘Okay.’

‘I was so fucking alone, Paris. So fucking lonely.’

Pariston nods.

‘And we knew each other then, Paris. But it’s different now. We’re both different now. And we can’t go back to then.’

Pariston’s grip on Ging’s shoulder loosens.

‘Because that was a long fucking time ago. And I’ve already become three different people, and you’ve already lost everything.’

Pariston doesn’t know what Ging is saying. It doesn’t make much sense. He watches how bright his golden shoes look against the scuffed off-white tiles of the lobby. He watches an airship rise slowly into the air, hovering bloated over them, casting long shadows through the glass.

‘Okay,’ he says.

‘Yeah.’ Ging runs his hand through his hair. ‘It’s different now.’

‘Okay. No, that makes sense.’ Pariston stands up.

Ging stares at him. ‘Okay.’ He gets up. ‘That’s our flight.’

‘Okay.’

Kite follows Ging to the gate, and Pariston comes along behind them. They stand for a moment, dead quiet in the noise of the airport.

Ging gives Kite his ticket. ‘You go ahead.’

Kite nods and goes ahead to wait again. Ging hesitates by the gate. He stares up at Pariston.

‘That’s the problem with life.’

‘What?’

‘It’s never the same twice so you can’t really be prepared, can you?’

Pariston shrugs. ‘Guess not.’

‘Yeah, okay. I should get going or Kite’s going to be in a strange country all alone.’

‘Well, I don’t think he’d be too shocked by that,’ Pariston says.

‘Yeah, but I wouldn’t want to lose him.’

‘Okay.’ Pariston blinks rapidly. He’s suddenly close to crying and he doesn’t want to do that.

Ging hoists his bag higher. ‘So.’

Pariston half smiles. ‘Yeah.’

‘See ya.’ Ging lifts a hand in a wave and then he’s gone.

Pariston stands alone in the airport. He watches the airship they’re on rise up slowly into the coming storm. It bobbles away.

Pariston sticks his hands in his pockets. He stares down at the suitcase beside him and wonders where he should go.

 

 

 

 


End file.
